Chasing Butterflies

I remember the day well - - the turning point in my relationship with my daughter. It began on a hot July morning, the sun beating down upon our small country home. Outside, sitting in the shade of a maple tree, I sketched pictures of my five-year-old daughter, Abigail, as she chased butterflies. Moments like these kept me safe in her world. She was rapidly changing - - becoming more and more like the butterflies she’d chase - - always in motion. Today, however, I relished being the center of her kingdom and stifled my growing concern that the future would lessen our closeness.

“Look, Mama!” she shouted, waving toward the dirt road. “It’s Rachel. Hi, Rachel!” Our neighbor’s daughter waved back, and I gasped in disbelief. What had happened to that cute eight-year-old girl selling Girl Scout cookies on my doorstep six years ago? Surely, she isn’t this tattered-looking teen sporting an eyebrow ring and purple hair! I watched as Rachel rounded the corner of our yard to head onto a path leading into the woods. She stopped only once to light a cigarette. Even though rumor had it that Rachel and her mother hadn’t spoken to each other for two years, I had dismissed the gossip as just that - - gossip. Now, after seeing Rachel, I gave it more credibility.


Abigail watched her, too, before turning to me. “Mama, was that a cigarette Rachel had?”

I explained that it was, answering as many questions as I could, but seeing Rachel in her rebellious teenage persona had soured my mood. Insecurities about what the future held for my own daughter and me surfaced. Had I been equipping Abigail with what she’d need to survive in the world? Had I been laying the foundation in these formative years to ward off a relationship disaster such as Rachel’s?

“How about if we go swimming?” I suggested, wanting to avoid seeing Rachel again. Abigail shouted in agreement and danced around the yard. Little things made her so happy, and my heart became a camera - - freeze-framing every inch of her. At the public pool, she was afraid of the water and barely ventured from the baby pool.

“Okay,” I told her. “I’m Ariel the Mermaid, and you’re Melody, her daughter. We need to go over to the big pool and save Atlantica from Ursula.” She hesitated, but then the promise of an exciting new game overcame her apprehension and she galloped toward me.

“Let’s go!” she giggled, entwining her petal-soft fingers in mine as we entered the pool.

We played for an eternity, and as she relaxed, I inched her closer to the deep end. Soon, I began to see our lives as that intimidating body of water ahead. If I could teach her to swim, we could stay afloat through life’s rough seas.

“Mama!” she cried when she couldn’t touch the bottom any longer. “I don’t want to go any further!”

“Trust me,” I whispered into her ear, soothing away her fears. “Hold onto my neck and you’ll see how much fun we can have together.” Her tiny fingers choked me but I continued calming her and soon she relaxed and shouted in glee.

“This is fun, Mama! I’m floating! Whee!” I held on to her waist and spun her around. The water cascaded over her as she imagined herself a real mermaid.

“Mama!” she exclaimed, watching as other children jumped into the pool. “I want to do that. Can you catch me?” I moved her to the pool’s concrete edge and lifted her out. She stood there, scared.

“I don’t want to do it now,” she told me, her face full of anxiety. “What if you don’t catch me?”

“I will catch you, Abigail,” I said, knowing that this was a monumental minute in our lives. “You must trust me.” Our eyes locked and in a split-second, both of our different fears became one. She was so much like me. From the way she ate a Snickers bar to the way she comforted her dolls - - I’d witnessed so much of myself in my daughter.

“Honey, I know that you’re scared. Even Mama gets scared sometimes.”

“What scares you?” she blurted, her tone suggesting that mothers were never afraid of anything.

“Well, right now, I’m scared that you won’t trust me,” I confessed. A flurry of emotions crossed her beautiful features as she digested my words. And then, in a moment frozen in time, she closed her eyes and jumped off the ledge. I hadn’t expected it so soon, but then I seized the God-given opportunity and reached out for her. My hands clasped around her wet body, and I pulled her toward me - - safe and secure.

“Mama! You did it!” she shouted, kissing my face. “I trusted you, and you caught me! Now we both don’t have to be afraid anymore.” Her excitement bubbled over. “Mom, I think we went on an adventure today!”

Her words sparked tearful promises of hope to my soul. Like the butterflies she would chase - - never knowing which way they’d travel - - I realized that an old adage still proved true. Life is an adventure to be lived and not a problem to be solved. Somehow, some way, she and I would get through the difficult seasons of life.

Later, after we’d pulled into our driveway, Abigail jumped out of the van and squealed in delight. Running over to the bush her father had planted to attract butterflies, she giggled and waved at me.

“Mama! Do you see them?” she asked, pointing at the brightly colored insects fluttering over the bush’s blossoms. I nodded, capturing her enthusiasm and tucking it safely inside my heart. We’re going to be just fine, I thought, smiling as my daughter turned away from me to begin chasing butterflies.